Tag Archives: victorian hotties

I spent quite some time combing my new Encyclopedia of the Victorian Era looking for some hotties, but the search was disappointingly futile. While there are many profiles of prominent male Victorians in the Encyclopedia, most of the portraits are from late in their lives and none really qualified as hotties by our usual standards. So I turned to the old reliable History Crushes Tumblr blog for a little inspiration, and as usual, it delivered. Enter US President Franklin Pierce.

Pierce was one of the middle-history presidents that nobody remembers much about. Somehow in AP US History in 11th grade, I managed to miss the fact that he was pretty handsome. Not sure how that could have happened. Pierce was our 14th President, in office from 1853-1857. Another thing I didn’t remember from APUSH was that he wasn’t such a great Prez. Wikipedia says he’s considered one of the worst because he exacerbated regional tensions and failed to prevent the Civil War. Seems kind of harsh to blame all that on one dude – that mess started way before Pierce came into office – but everyone knows Wikipedia never lies, so there it is. But…he is hot. And apparently, he was also very charming and had a deep voice.

Pierce was in the Senate the same time as one of my old faves from APUSH, John C. Calhoun. For some reason, we always said his name as John C. Calhooooooon. I can’t resist adding a few pics of Mr. Calhoun – not because he’s a hottie, but because he looks crazy. The hair! It’s too good.

Calling all Willem Dafoe fans – I’ve got a hottie for you! Well, he’s a hottie for everyone, really. This is Wilfrid Scawen Blunt. He was an English poet, writer, and horse-breeder (HEATHER!) who lived from 1840-1922. He was an anti-Imperialist who spent a lot of time in Egypt, the Middle East, and India. He married Lord Byron’s granddaughter, Lady Anne Noel, but had numerous affairs, notably with Catherine “Skittles” Walter, a famous Victorian courtesan (she’s worth a post herself, btw – I’ll get on that next). Wilfrid and Lady Anne brought the first Arabian horses to England, starting a horse farm called Crabbet Arabian Stud. I think it’s clear that the horses weren’t the only studs at Crabbet Farm.

Alright ladies, put your tongues back in your mouths. This handsome gentleman with the great hair is William Hope Hodgson, 1877-1918. He was an English sci-fi, horror, and fantasy writer who started his career as a sailor, wrote some in the middle, and ended as a soldier, killed at the age of 40 in WWI.

Hey baby, can you read this manuscript I wrote while I go pump some iron?

Apparently, Mr. Hodgson was pretty short – 5’6″ to be exact – and this got him bullied and beat up quite a bit throughout his youth. As a result, Hodgson took matters into his own hands and started pumping up. In fact, he opened a gym and physical training center back in England, and starting writing about “physical culture” and the importance of strength training. That turned out to be not-so-popular for some reason (they didn’t have any Oldies to sweat to yet), so he switched to fiction and started writing fantasy and horror stories. A little strange? Yeah, maybe, but also kind of fascinating! He reminds me a lot of my absolute favorite hottie author of all time, Jack London. Let’s listen to Mr. Hodgson discuss his considerable strength in his own words.

“From your remark, I gather that the gods have given you a length of seventy two inches, while they have given this child something under sixty six. With such length I refused to be content, so make it up in breadth and muscularity.

<Katherine’s aside: When I first read this line about his “length,” I have to say, I was not thinking about height.>

“Sometime, if you would really care to have one, I must send you a decent photograph of myself, showing developement. In the meanwhile I have snipped you out a couple of weeny ones from some old postcards of mine. They may interest you.

“Of course, I’m nothing like as strong as I used to be before the flue bowled me over last year, and left my heart a wee bitte weak. Also, I think that writing has taken off a lot of muscle — confound it! But I suppose one musn’t be greedy.

“Before I was ill, I could take two fifty-six pound weights in one hand, and put them at arm’s length over my head, and, in fact, lift a good deal more than that with more convenient weights.

<Katherine’s aside: !!!!>

Now, I very much doubt if I could lift more than eighty or ninety pounds over my head with one hand. Another thing, I could lift considerably more than a quarter of a ton off the ground, using my bare hands — no straps around hand and wrist. And that takes a bit of doing. And now — well, if I go easy I daresay I shall come back to my old form in time — let but the editors smile on me a bit.

Happy New Year! This year, the Vicky A’s resolve to waste more time thinking about attractive men who have been dead for over a century. To that end, let’s start the year off right with a Victorian Hottie of the Week. For our first hottie of the year, we choose the Right Adorable Michael Faraday. Familiar to you from your high school physics class, Mr. Faraday made a number of crucial discoveries in the field of electromagnetism. He is certainly one of the most influential scientists of the Victorian era, and his work influenced another of our hotties, James Clerk Maxwell. In fact, his genius and hotness were so highly regarded that Albert Einstein kept a picture of Faraday on his wall. If I were Einstein, I’d stare at Faraday all day long while trying to figure out if I could fly backwards around the Earth fast enough to go back in time and take him home to our own personal Faraday love cage, which would, of course, isolate us from all cell phone related interruptions.

Oh, Horatio! We all know Lord Nelson was a majorly kick-ass Naval commander — one of the most revered in English history. Nelson’s tactical skill and bravery won him many battles at sea, including the well-known Battle of Trafalgar where the combined French and Spanish fleet lost 22 of their 33 ships, and the British lost none of their 27. But did you know what a stone cold fox he was?

Later in his career, he had a very public affair with a woman who was recognized as the most beautiful woman in England, Emma, Lady Hamilton. An iconic face in contemporary painting, Emma was passed around by various British elite before meeting and falling in love with Nelson. Nelson was married and had been for years, but after meeting Emma, he fell in love with her as well. Problem was, she was already married to another old white dude, Sir William Hamilton, British envoy to Naples.

Emma, by George Romney, 1785

So Nelson loved Emma and Emma loved Nelson, and basically, Sir William was cool with this. He was so cool, in fact, that the three of them lived together openly in a righteous 18th century menage a trois while Nelson and Emma waited for Sir William to die so they could marry. He finally kicked it in 1803, but right about the same time Nelson was recalled to sea, and in 1805, he was killed at Trafalgar. Can someone please make a movie of this? Because I would definitely pay $13 to see it in 3D.

Oh yeah, and after his death, Lord Nelson became an immortal deity, as shown in this photograph. He was the man.

To start this week off on the right foot (haHA crappy Monday jokes), here’s Vaslav Nijinsky (March 12, 1898 – April 8, 1950), a Russian ballet dancer and choreographer of Polish descent wildly considered the greatest dancer of the 20th century. He was one of the few male dancers who could dance en pointe and he apparently had ups to rival Michael Jordan (citation needed).

He was introduced to dance by his parents, who were also dancers, and he entered the Imperial Ballet School in Russia before he was 10. In 1909, he joined the Ballets Russes (founded by Sergei Diaghilev who eventually became Nijinsky’s lover…more on that later) and rose in popularity and acclaim as the star dancer of the company.

Along the lines of Lisztomania, the public went insane when they watched him perform (and even went on panty raids backstage): “An electric shock passed through the entire audience. Intoxicated, entranced, gasping for breath, we followed this superhuman being… the power, the featherweight lightness, the steel-like strength, the suppleness of his movements…” I’m not even sure how one would execute a panty raid on a member of the corps de ballet. Are there panties to raid? Anyhoo…

We also have to spend some time here talking about how he married his fangirl stalker. No, really. (For more ridiculous details, see #3 on this Cracked article here. “Romola de Pulszky Shared Her Sexy, Schizophrenic Husband With His Male Boss” sums it up pretty darn well.) Her name was Romola de Pulszky and apparently, she saw him perform once and then made a determined effort to get to know him (i.e., broke off her previous engagement, followed his touring company across Europe, convinced Diaghilev that she was a rich benefactress to get his attention and secure ballet lessons with one of the troupes dance-masters, AND, despite his continual ignoring of her, booked train compartments and hotel rooms next to him and told people she wanted to have his child. YIKES.).

Even MORE strangely, he randomly proposed to her (through halting French and mime, since neither spoke the others’ language. No, I am not making this up.). I mean, look at this crap:

“On board ship, Romola had a cabin in first class, which allowed her to keep a watch on Nijinsky’s door, while most of the company were exiled to second class. She befriended his masseur and was rewarded with a rundown on his musculature. Determined to take every opportunity, she succeeded in spending more and more time in his company. The unexpected friendliness was noticed by Baron de Gunsbourg, an investor in the Ballets Russes, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on the company. Instead of reporting back to Diaghilev on what was occurring, Gunsbourg agreed to act on Nijinsky’s behalf in presenting a proposal of marriage to Romola. Romola thought a cruel joke was being played on her, and ran off to her cabin crying. However, Nijinsky asked her again, in broken French and mime, and she accepted. Although Gunsbourg had a financial interest in Ballets Russes, he was also interested in forming his own company, and a split between Diaghilev and his star dancer might have presented him with an opportunity. … Back in Europe, Diaghilev “gave himself to a wild orgy of dissipation…Sobbing shamelessly in Russian despair, he bellowed accusations and recriminations; he cursed Nijinsky’s ingratitude, Romola’s treachery, and his own stupidity”.

…BUT THE CRAZY CONTINUES.

“As the company was due to start performing immediately, there was no honeymoon. A few days after the marriage, Nijinsky tried to teach Romola some ballet, but she was not interested. “I asked her to learn dancing because for me dancing was the highest thing in the world”, “I realized that I had made a mistake, but the mistake was irreparable. I had put myself in the hands of someone who did not love me.” Romola and Nijinsky did not share accommodation until after the season was safely underway, when she was eventually invited to join him in separate bedrooms in his hotel suite. She “almost cried with thankfulness” that he showed no interest in making love on their wedding night.”

I’ve got nothing, folks. If you want even more of the crazy, check out that Cracked article that I linked; it includes bisexual affairs, more crazy letter writing, revisionist history, attempts to pray away Nijinsky’s homosexuality, bouts of schizophrenia, and an eventual committal to an asylum. He died in a London clinic in 1950 and his body is buried at Montmartre Cemetery in Paris. Despite his Jerry Springeresque marital dysfunction, he’ll forever be known as one of the most outstanding and sensual performers to ever grace the stage.

We know Yeats was a passionate man – see Heather’s lovely post on one of his love affairs here and one of his beautiful poems here. We’ve also already established that I’m a sucker for a good pince nez. Put these things together, and Yeats makes an excellent Victorian hottie of the week.

Yeats always closely associated love affairs with creativity and inspiration. Throughout his life, he had many affairs, even after marrying the young Georgie Hyde Lees when he was 51 and she 25.

Even in his old age, Yeats still got around. He underwent a surgery called the “Steinach procedure” at 69 and possibly as a result, experienced what he called “a second puberty.” The operation was a half vasectomy which the inventor, Eugen Steinach, claimed would increase hormone production and male sexual potency. Whether or not it actually worked as advertised, Yeats experienced a rejuventating effect that led to a period of prolific writing. It also led to affairs with significantly younger women including a 27 year-old named Margot Ruddock. Boston College magazine has a great account of Yeats’s later life including an excerpt from a letter he wrote to Margot suggesting she squint when she looks at his aging body.

O how can I that interest hold?
What offer to attentive eyes?
Mind grows young and body old;
When half closed her eye-lid lies
A sort of hidden glory shall
About these stooping shoulders fall.

I don’t know, I think he’s a pretty good looking old dude. What do you think?

Old Thomas Edison has been getting a bit of a bad rap recently. There seems to be a rivalry between Tesla and Edison fans these days, but we don’t really care because they were both megawatt-hotties. There’s nothing better than a babe with brains, am I right ladies? Most of the famous photos of Edison show him later in life, but this one shows what a handsome young man he was, scowling expression and all. There’s no smiling in science, people! Unless you’re Nikola Tesla, of course.

I’ll leave the lights on for you, Thomas. And if you’re busy, can you send over Nikola? Heck, why don’t you both come and show me who is the best at generating electricity?

This striking young gent in the Highland uniform is Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany, eighth child and fourth son of Queen Victoria. I found this photo today and found him extremely handsome, with a piquant expression in his face; however, Katherine reminded me that we had a discussion about Queen Victoria’s strange antipathy for her son, or indeed, her own children. Some particularly ridiculous quotes, courtesy of Victoriana, are as follows:

“Leopold…is the ugliest.” … “I think he is uglier than he ever was.” …”I hope, dear, he [Vicky’s young son] won’t be like [Leopold] the ugliest and least pleasing of the whole family.” … “He [Leopold] walks shockingly–and is dreadfully awkward–holds himself as badly as ever and his manners are despairing, as well as his speech–which is quite dreadful. It is so provoking as he learns so well and reads quite fluently; but his French is more like Chinese than anything else; poor child, he is really very unfortunate.”

Yikes. What mother says this about her 6 year old?! And yet, there’s this photo. It makes you wonder about her perception of him versus the reality. Was he awkward and ungainly in personality? Or did she choose to control the narrative surrounding public perception of her son through manipulation of the photo-shoot itself: “Here, shoot him from this angle. Tilt your head down and to the left, Leopold; it’s your least ugly side. And look pensive! That helps.”

On the other hand, he did a fine job with his more traditionally handsome (and hopefully Vicky-approved?) son, Charles Edward, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who succeeded to his father’s titles after Leopold’s early death at age 30 to hemophilia. I think he looks very much like his grandfather, Prince Albert.

I mean, Queen Vicky wouldn’t have had anything bad to say about him, right?? Not even about his crappy language skills?

He reigned as the fourth and last Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, since the advent of World War I (and Charles Edward’s eventual support of Germany and unfortunately, his joining of the Nazi party as a SA Gruppenführer) led the royal family (via George V) to change their name from the House of Saxe-Coburg to (you guessed it) the House of Windsor in order to distance themselves from their German heritage. Under the terms of the Titles Deprivation Act, per Wiki, “an Order in Council on 28 March 1919 formally removed Charles Edward’s British peerages, the Dukedom of Albany, Earldom of Clarence, and the Barony of Arklow.” An ignominious end to the House of Saxe-Coburg, but one that led to the advent of the House of Windsor and a new era of British sovereignty.

History, hotties, and sometimes notties. (And hotties who become notties? The Vicky A’s in no way, shape, or form endorse Nazism as ‘hot’. His deeply unfortunate life choices pull him into the nottie category, but have nothing to do with his superficial, Leslie Howard-esque good looks.) Just your average Tuesday here with the Vicky A’s.

Today’s Hottie of the Week is Franz Ritter von Liszt, better known simply as Franz Liszt. Born in 1811, Liszt is considered one of the greatest composers in Classical music and was considered by his peers to be the most technically accomplished and advanced pianist of his age; many would consider him to be the greatest of all time. Composer, piano teacher, music transcriber, conductor: this man could do it all and did it all while looking a bit like Severus Snape. Turn to page 394 indeed.

Can’t you FEEL the smolder?? He’s smoldering at us. Watch out, Flynn Rider! Here he reminds me a bit of the model and makeup artiste and entrepreneur Edward Bess. (Seriously, his makeup is amazing and he himself is mighty easy on the eyes in addition to being completely charming in person. But I digress. Hotties!!)

This is Liszt in 1858. He also enjoyed staring off into middle distance wistfully when he got older. Still a good-looking man; sensitive, but with a strong profile. And I do enjoy the wistfulness.

Trivia Tidbit: apparently, people went buck-wild for Liszt when he played; this phenomenon became so widespread that the writer Heinrich Heine in his review of the musical season of 1844 gave it a name: Lisztomania, i.e., the “intense fan frenzy directed toward Franz Liszt during his performances” even to the point of hysteria. I cannot cannotCANNOT make this up. This man was the original Beetle. And I quote: “Liszt’s playing was reported to raise the mood of the audience to a level of mystical ecstasy. Admirers of Liszt would swarm over him, fighting over his handkerchiefs and gloves.Fans would wear his portrait on brooches and cameos.Women would try to get locks of his hair, and whenever he broke a piano string, admirers would try to obtain it in order to make a bracelet.Some female admirers would even carry glass phials into which they poured his coffee dregs. According to one report: ‘Liszt once threw away an old cigar stump in the street under the watchful eyes of an infatuated lady-in-waiting, who reverently picked the offensive weed out of the gutter, had it encased in a locket and surrounded with the monogram “F.L.” in diamonds, and went about her courtly duties unaware of the sickly odour it gave forth.‘ “

There you have it, folks. 19th century panties all on the floor, giving it up for Liszt. It just doesn’t get better than this.